Life with a blindfold on

Part two

Careening, blindfolded, toward a brick wall is not unlike running to become a school trustee. 

So… where was I? Oh, yes. Andrew Scribner had just handed me the blindfold and was suggesting that I run full bore toward a brick wall.

I agreed.

For those who may not have read part one, I had been teaching this particular Grade 9 drama class for about eight months.

We had been working on trust activities, among other things, where the students walk around a circle blindfolded and their peers gently stop them from walking into the wall or other obstacles.

I had a volunteer all ready to go to the next level, which was to run toward the wall blindfolded and his/her peers would stop him.

He suggested I do it first.

I walked to one end of the gym while my throng of protégés stood in a clump at the other end. I started to feel a little like Evel Knievel. I donned the blindfold and turned to face them for about five long seconds.

Then, I yelled out, “Are you ready!” It wasn’t really a question.

Silence.

“Are you ready!” I cried again, tipping my head back at 45 degrees.

Nothing.

I tore off the blindfold and looked at an empty gym. They had left.

“Alright. Very funny!”

They all streamed in snickering and having a delightful time at my expense. I forgave them because I would have done exactly the same thing in their place.

“Listen everybody, this is serious.” And I really meant what I said because developing trust is not an easy task. We all sat down and talked a little about trust and what I was actually trying to achieve here.

I’ve always had success in discussing the purpose of any activity with my students no matter how miniscule it may seem.

“If I can’t trust you to catch me and not let me hit the wall, how can I trust you when I’m really reaching and experimenting with my expression and creativity, and you’re sitting there watching or evaluating me?”

They all looked at me in silence. When teenagers do this, it may be an indication that something neurological is taking place.

I was encouraged.

“OK, I’m going to go back to the other end of the gym and you are going to prevent me from running into the wall by stopping me gently with your hands.”

I couldn’t really believe what I was saying either.

That’s when Charles Carpenter whispered something into Andrew Scribner’s ear and they both rolled over in laughter.

I felt a weakness in my knees.

I walked with a slightly unsteady gait back to the other end of the gym, put on my blindfold and faced my life support system at the other end.

This time I felt like Super Dave Osborne.

“Are you ready?” It was a question this time.

“Yes, we’re ready,” yelled Michelle Gillespie.

I felt a renewed sense of warmth emerging in my being because I trusted Michelle. But as for some of the others… well, I was pushing myself to be optimistic.

I started to walk. I broke into a slow jog. Something inside me was telling me to peek. I resisted. I stepped it up into a run. I sensed that I was over half way there. 

Now, have you ever seen a cat have a kind of palsy attack? I walked out my front door one day and saw my Siamese cat on the path in front of my house. For some unknown reason, he was running toward me, but his head and front paws were trying to back up.

He had an insane look on his face. I think his brain was short-circuiting. He truly did not know whether he was coming or going.

Well, that’s how I felt.

I started to wave my arms in front of me feeling for an imaginary wall. I was stepping as if I was in two feet of water.

I tried to speed up, but my arms and face wanted to back up. By the time someone touched me to slow down, I was pretty much stationary but flapping about like an insane duck.

“That was pretty cool, Mr. Knight,” uttered Charles as I removed my blindfold. The life support system had gathered around me.

“Thanks, Charles.”

“You don’t trust us do you, Mr. Knight?”

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.